


out of the woods

by uumiho



Series: tank time & side fics [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Other: See Story Notes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-28
Updated: 2016-04-28
Packaged: 2018-06-05 00:20:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6681952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uumiho/pseuds/uumiho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Karkat needs to have an important conversation. Dave's body was not prepared.</p><p>(part of the tank time universe)</p>
            </blockquote>





	out of the woods

**Author's Note:**

> sup my guys! this is the first of about five side fics that will occur in the tank time series! this fic takes place between chapters 8 and 9 and WILL NOT make sense unless you've read tank time proper.
> 
> this fic is completely canon and actually happens, HOWEVER, it is optional headcanon. nothing within this fic will be referenced in the main fic, so if you don't like this reveal, you don't have to listen to a word it says. :)
> 
> final note: tank time is staying PG-13, and all sexual content within the series will be relegated to side fics. while not gratuitous, this fic is a little more explicit than tank time has been so far.

A week after Karkat comes to stay with Dave, he pins Dave to the front of the refrigerator. Dave retaliates by bending him over the table and sticking his hands up his stupid (ridiculously soft) sweater. It’s preceded by a straight week of not-subtle flirting and Karkat’s erratic advances, which Dave admittedly does not always understand, but feels optimistic about, judging by the hardness he felt in Karkat’s pants when he bent his body over his and pulled his collar down so he could suck a hickey into his dark skin.

They kiss a couple times before that, always chaste though not necessarily slow or tender, considering Karkat’s initiation tends to be intense and explosive. Dave hasn’t worked up the nerve to initiate touch yet but it doesn’t seem to cause any grief between them. Karkat is aggressive and knows exactly what he wants, which doesn’t surprise Dave. What _does_ surprise Dave is that he always spends at least ten minutes after any show of affection aggressively trying Dave’s patience, like he’s secretly measuring how willing Dave is to stick around and subject himself to his bullshit. When Dave fails to be anything more than annoyed, Karkat tends to come back and plaster himself to his side in some combined silent apology and desperate grasp for reassurance.

Dave isn’t a cuddly person, but he starts to learn.

He struggles with his feelings because it seems to happen so fast, the confirmation that they like each other. Karkat gets invested quickly, though he doesn’t talk about it directly. He asks testing questions, like when Dave plans to kick him out, or inquires into his dating history. Dave doesn’t _want_ to admit that he’s never had a legit boyfriend before, but he reluctantly does, and that seems to chill Karkat out a little bit.

Regardless of what’s happening between them emotionally, they last a whole seven days in the same apartment before smashing face, which Dave thinks is a good incubation period. He’s pretty ruined after it, though: hickeys and scratches and bite marks _everywhere_ , glaring red against his freckled white skin. Fortunately he doesn’t need to show his face anywhere for work, though John finds the time to cam with him for about 15 minutes and pries and pries until Dave says “well, okay, but you’re not gonna believe what—” and then abruptly hangs up and refuses to respond to any of John’s IMs until a full hour later.

 **‘my internet went out dude i promise’** he’s texting at John, around nine PM (give or take 26 minutes), when Karkat walks into the living room. Karkat hasn’t fully gotten out of his ‘hole up defensively at all hours’ habit, so he tends to move pretty quickly between socializing and locking himself in Dave’s bedroom until Dave bangs on the door and asks what kind of take-out he wants. Dave glances up at him, trying to clamp down on the smile at John’s indignation. He just ends up biting his lip and smirking anyway as he hits send and silences his phone so the slew of incoming messages don’t bug him. “Hey dude, sup,” he greets.

Karkat makes a soft mumble of a greeting and sits next to him on the couch, looking both keyed up and subdued at the same time. “Karkat?” Dave wonders, nudging him lightly with his knee. His feet are up on the coffee table and he removes them, shifting to face Karkat better. “Y’alright, man?”

“I’m fine,” Karkat says, side-eying him. Dave immediately feels awkward about touching him, even after having established full body contact while Karkat was lying sprawled over the table he eats on. “I was wondering if we could talk.”

Dread immediately drops Dave’s stomach into his ankles and for a second he can’t speak, or even breathe. It must show on his face (no, wrong, bad, shit—) because Karkat’s face immediately changes and he reaches a hand out to touch Dave’s cheek. “Hey wait hold the shit up don’t look like your dog just self aborted her puppies, it’s nothing bad, holy fucking hell. Are you capable of hearing news about interpersonal relationships without panicking?”

“I have a kettle in the kitchen calling your name,” Dave mutters, but he tries to focus on slowing his heartbeat, which is reminding him of two pans slamming together in his chest.

“I broke up with it two weeks ago,” Karkat responds, grimacing. “I said I changed my number; please don’t tell it that I’m here.”

“You’ve only showed up a week ago,” Dave says.

Karkat offers him a fangy little smirk, corner of his mouth pulling to the side to show a thin ridge of teeth. “Yeah, I know.”

Dave pauses, then guffaws, elbowing him in the side. “Stop tryin’ t’ freak me out, dude. What’s up?”

Readjusting his weight, Karkat repositions himself next to Dave in a more neutral position, then ruins the effect by folding his arms tightly across his chest. “There’s some shit I don’t really like to fucking talk about but probably should,” he introduces, pursing his lips. “For a number of reasons I’ve decided there’s something I want you to know.”

Despite being reassured that it’s not a big deal, Dave is still nervous when he responds. “Yeah?” is all that comes out, even though he can feel the desire to word vomit everywhere pressing at the back of his throat. He forces himself to swallow it down, much like real vomit.

“Yeah,” Karkat agrees, looking helpless. “And let me be clear that if you react like a jackass or many any jokes about this at all, I will kill you and steal everything you own and flee the country using your stolen identity.”

“Good luck,” Dave says of the tiny brown asshole who looks nothing like him at all, and lets Karkat’s knowing smirk soothe him a little bit. “I won’t be a jackass,” he reassures.

“ _Good_ ,” says Karkat, with conviction, and then he twists his mouth to the side and chews on one unusually bare thumb. He must have taken the nail polish off and not had time to put it back on. He makes a face that conveys ‘tastes gross, tastes like poison’ which is probably the fault of the polish remover. Dave is hyperaware of Karkat’s request to not hear any bullshit jokes, so he doesn’t rib him about it even though he’s pretty sure nail polish is not why Karkat wants to talk to him right now. “Also: this doesn’t leave the apartment. If you tell _anyone_ —”

“Dude,” Dave interrupts. “I get it. This is obviously some real shit if you’re willing to kill a man over it, though I guess that ain’t saying much cuz you’d probably kill a man over a hot dog— vegan hot dog, sorry.” Karkat raises his eyebrows. “What I’m sayin’ is, I’m not as socially incompetent as you seem to think I am. Okay, shut up.”

Snickering, Karkat slowly lets his arms relax from their tight protection of his front, instead stretching them out in front of him. “I’m trans,” he says once they resettle into his lap.

His brain stalls. What? Dave blinks, then blinks again, then looks away and frowns. When he glances back at Karkat there’s a look on his face that’s some combination of terror and fury, but he doesn’t say anything at all, doesn’t even make a sound. Dave realizes he should talk, but he’s just so…

“That’s it?”

Karkat’s face transitions into something Dave can’t decipher. “What do you mean ‘that’s it.’”

“Dude,” Dave says, “I thought you were gonna tell me you went back in time to save my parents and then ended up being the reason they died. What the fuck.” He remembers at the last second that he promised not to make any jokes and struggles to recover before Karkat can brain him with the entire coffee table. “But shit, dude, thanks for tellin’ me. I know that’s like, a big thing. Or. Whatever.” Maybe Dave is exactly as socially incompetent as Karkat thinks he is, but he’s trying.

Karkat must recognize that because he huffs out a laugh and turns his head to the side. “Most people don’t know. I’ve been out since I was a kid and my dad was always supportive. Even after he died he— I stayed on the shit I needed to be on, and was never forced to act like a girl at any point in my life.”

“Is that why you don’t wear a binder or anything? Because when I— uh,” Dave says, because he’s an idiot and can’t stop remembering how Karkat’s chest was completely flat under his hands, aside from the slight pudge that Dave had just assumed was…

Karkat examines him dryly. “I never developed tits, no.”

It’s way blunter than Dave would have phrased it, but it gets the point across. Dave clears his throat uncomfortably. “Got it. Alright, cool. Anything else?” He is smarter than to ask about the inappropriate boner. Dave doesn't need to guess how packers work.

Taking a deep breath, Karkat closes his eyes, then stands up. “Nope. That was it.”

“Forreal?”

“For real.”

“Alright, man.”

“Good talk,” Karkat says, and seems to morph through space from how fast he ends up locked once again in Dave’s room. Lost for what to do next, Dave pulls his phone out and turns it on, eyes staring blankly at the screen until he focuses on the little notification window. 37 messages. Whoops. Sorry John.


End file.
